


coffee and tea and the java and me

by apatternedfever



Category: Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Gen, Not Beta Read, Serenity is a coffeeshop, even as a coffeeshop she's still a character, everyone loves everyone, mentions of abuse and general awful things happening to River, passing Simon/Kaylee crushing, passing Wash/Zoe, the crew is family even when they work in a coffee shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatternedfever/pseuds/apatternedfever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Reynolds runs Serenity Coffee, with his cheerful little crew as close to each other as a family. Four short pieces about finding Serenity. [Coffeeshop AU. Alternate title: "you can't take this cup from me"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee and tea and the java and me

Sometimes people ask him how he can enjoy going from the battlefield to owning a coffee shop, but the truth is, Mal likes his life now. He liked it then, too, until the injury, but he doesn't tell them that; doesn't talk about that night at all, pinned and sure he was dying, except with Zoe, who remembers it even more clearly than he does, every moment stark and unhindered by the pain and blood loss that blurs the edges of his memory. He loved the war. He believed in what he was doing, during the war. He was a damn good solider; still would be out there, if it wasn't for his leg, his back, the fact that he's slower now, can't carry as much.

So yes, he misses it, and yes, it's a bit strange to spend his life on coffee instead of fighting, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love his job. He loves his shop. He loves his crew, the way they've learned to love Serenity Coffee as much as he does. He wouldn't trade any of it.

(Probably. If someone came up to him and offered to give him back his body the way it had been, to take away the pain and give him the ability to go back into the service -- well, if that genie ever came, Mal would have a hell of a time choosing.)

\---

Zoe considers finding another job sometimes. Not seriously, though. She doesn't second-guess herself much.

Truth be told, she'd expected to do something else entirely. Something that let her use the skills she'd picked up in the army, something a little more like the life she'd expected even as a kid, an army brat with big hopes of following her father's footsteps. Expected that right up till the night she found Malcolm Reynold's address and showed up on his doorstep, six-pack in one hand and pizza in the other. They spent the night talking old war stories, woke up smiling, and then she came along to his coffee shop to help him open.

She hasn't looked back since. And it's not because of Wash, who applied with bravado and the best resume willing to work for Mal's offer, and proceeded to talk and joke and hope her into first liking, and now loving him. It's not even because of Mal, not totally, although having him back in her life is better than she'd thought it would be.

It's because of laughing in the backroom at the half-drunk crowd that comes in at that weird time that's not quite morning and not quite night, and at the panicked college students that come in any time of day or night. It's because of the alternately ecstatically and forlorn looks of the writers that camp out by the outlets, taking bets on who the next person to come triumphantly clutching a published book will be. Because she knows her regular's names and she knows everything about the people with her behind the counter. Because the coffee she gets anywhere else doesn't taste right anymore.

Because she's found a place where she fits in as a civilian, and she never expected to have that.

\---

Book comes for the coffee and stays for the company. For Kaylee's cheerful smile and eventually, the way she comes around the counter to give him a hug when they're not busy. For the way Inara will stand across the counter from him when the shop is empty and engage him in fascinating debates on any subject they can think of. For the way Jayne's first, unreadable sideways glance and "You're a preacher?" eventually gives way to quiet requests to pray for whichever of his too-large family is struggling or sick now, always followed by a "Thanks, Father," that's as honest as any member of his congregation's would be.

And it doesn't hurt that the coffee's damn good, too.

He knows Mal's always struggling to make ends meet, but when he leaves too-large tips, the amounts double or more the cost of his drinks, Mal never lets him leave without giving them back. So he leaves them only when the owner isn't around, tipping Zoe or Kaylee a conspiratorial wink on his way out of the door.

He respects the man, even admires him, enough to feel bad about trying to get around his pride. But he loves this little shop too much to see it go under, if he can help.

\---

It's a last resort. Simon know they know it; he's been coming here long enough for them to recognize him. They know he's been through medical school. They know he's overqualified.

They also know he's desperate, as soon as he walks through the door and hands Kaylee his resume, resolutely looking down to not see the sympathy in her eyes. He doesn't see what she makes of River, sliding onto the stool by the window, spinning around and giggling like she was years younger than 16.

"I'll get Mal," she says quietly, and disappears into the back. Simon leans his elbows onto the counter and drops his head into his hands, struggling to keep his breathing even and remember why he did this somewhere people know him. (He knows why, the hopes that his familiarity would win him the job, but it still feels like an awful idea, standing her.) He's not surprised when River's arms slide around him from behind, her voice muffled by the hug.

"You'll be fine," she says, with her usual overconfident optimism, and he tries to believe her. She sounds surprisingly lucid; he hopes it's a good sign. "Knock them dead."

One short interview that concludes on a blunt "Tell me why you're really here" later, he proves her right. He tries not to think that he's flushing his schooling away as he ties on his apron for the first time. Tries not to think about how almost a year of trying to get up the nerve to flirt with Kaylee are for nothing, now that she's seen him stumble with the machines she works with ease and watched how he deals with his brain-damaged little sister. Tries not to think at all while he serves the college students that make up the bulk of his first shift, knowing how bitter it will be if he does.

After, he sits down and enjoys the free cup of coffee Wash offers him, and tenses at the nod in River's direction where she sits with her sketchpad. "What's wrong with her?" he asks, his voice low but lacking judgement. Simon is grateful for that much.

"She was in an accident," Simon says, and leaves it there. He doesn't know them that well, not well enough to go into the long, sad saga of their childhood, to explain that they're not sure if it's the damage from the accident, the abuse and the resulting PTSD, some other lurking mental disorder that latched onto the circumstances to flair up and take over her brain, or some combination of all three that made her this way. All he adds is, "I'll make sure she stays home next time," even though it terrifies him, the idea of leaving her home by herself for that long.

"Don't worry about it," Wash answers with a small smile. "We've gotten more problems from the college kids than from her, and you're not working the busy shifts yet."

Simon says thank you. And says it again, after Wash brings her a hot chocolate on the house and doesn't realize Simon sees him pull the money for it out of his pocket. And again, when she tells him that Inara sat with her during her break. And again, when Kaylee brings him a cup of coffee to go before he leaves even though he didn't ask. Again, when Mal steps out from the back to give him his hours for the next week.

"Don't worry about it," Mal says, and Simon tries. He doesn't think he'll succeed, but he tries.

"Told you," River sing-songs when they walk into the cold, and Simon laughs for what feels like the first time in weeks.


End file.
